


Get One Every Year

by infinitevariety (disapparater)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anthony JActs of Service Crowley, Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Birthday, Fluff, Gift Giving, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 20:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30060912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/infinitevariety
Summary: Angels and demons don’t have birthdays… until Crowley gives Aziraphale one.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	Get One Every Year

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write myself a birthday ficlet, had this silly idea, and got the thing written.

“Happy birthday, angel!”

The double doors of the bookshop slam shut behind Crowley and he throws his arms out wide, entrance just as dramatic as he’d imagined. He has a bunch of flowers and a card in one hand, and box of fruit Danishes in the other. Aziraphale blinks at him from across the room. He is holding a book in his hand, but seems to have momentarily forgotten about it. Quite the achievement, if Crowley does say so himself. 

“I don’t… I don’t have a birthday, Crowley.”

“Neither of us do, I know,” Crowley says as he strolls across the room. He deposits his gifts by the till on his way past, so his hands are free to pluck the forgotten book from Aziraphale’s hands. “Which is a crying shame, if you ask me. So I picked a couple of dates for us to celebrate, anyway.”

Aziraphale’s hands follow the book, his mouth open in obvious protest. But Crowley carefully slides the book back on the shelf in the place it belongs and Aziraphale’s mouth snaps shut again. He settles for throwing Crowley a disgruntled look instead.

“And why,” Aziraphale says as he crosses his arms over his chest, “would we want to celebrate imaginary birthdays?”

“For fun. Obviously.”

Aziraphale doesn’t argue, but the heavy sighs he heaves speaks volumes.

“Don’t you want your flowers? Bunch of Larkspur I picked up from the flower market first thing this morning.” Crowley backs up towards the till and the gifts laid out next to it. “What about the raspberry Danishes?” Crowley gestures towards the box with the logo of Aziraphale’s favourite bakery on the side.

Crowley sees Aziraphale’s face soften, clearly wanting to cave and be tempted into this impromptu celebration. Crowley wonders if Aziraphale suspects the fictional birthday is just another excuse for Crowley to spoil him. That’s ridiculous, of course—Crowley doesn’t _need_ an excuse. What it is, is another excuse for Aziraphale to _accept_ the spoiling.

“And,” Crowley continues to persuade Aziraphale, “what about a reason to celebrate with a sushi lunch followed by a birthday dinner at the Ritz? I hear they have special champagne they only offer to patrons on their birthday!”

Aziraphale bites his lower lip, so close to acquiescing Crowley can almost smell it.

“Will there be cake?” asks Aziraphale.

“What kind of birthday would it be without cake?” Crowley makes a mental note to slip off and ring the Ritz about a birthday cake.

Finally, a smile blooms on Aziraphale’s face and he steps forward, over to Crowley and the flowers and the Danishes.

“I expect you to sing _Happy Birthday_ , too.”

“The whole flipping _restaurant_ will be singing, don’t you worry.” Crowley will need to get very very drunk while Aziraphale eats his dinner.

Aziraphale picks up the bunch of pink Larkspur and brings them to his nose. He sighs happily before snapping a vase into existence and slipping the flowers into it. He then opens the box of pastries and extracts the largest one.

“Why did you choose the first of July for my birthday, dear?” asks Aziraphale before taking a bite.

“Well,” answers Crowley, taking in the pale blue, pink, and beige plaid of Aziraphale’s bow tie, “the internet told me today was _Tartan Day_ , and I honestly couldn’t think of a more perfect day to celebrate your imaginary birth.”

The raspberry-tinged grin Aziraphale gives him is absolute perfection. Aziraphale puts down the Danish and picks up his birthday card, ripping into the envelope.

“And what about you, Crowley? Did you choose a date for your own birthday?”

“Oh yes. I picked _International Snake Day_ for my own mythical birthday.”

“Of course you did,” says Aziraphale with not a little amount of fondness in his voice. “And when, pray tell, is that?”

Crowley grins. “It’s July 16th, angel, so you’d better get shopping for presents!”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://infinitevariety.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
